On the cusp of the weekend you will be looking forward to at least 48 hours of overindulgence. Overindulgence in all the things that these fucking people will tell you is bad for you. They’ll do whatever they can to try make you feel horribly guilty by Sunday Night or Monday Morning – whenever it is you resurface from the orgy of stimulants, sex and food. Fuck them! Fuck that! Life is short, painful and generally quite pointless. You are not a special butterfly, so you will not be missed when you die. You are not a Dodo, we will not remember you 300 years after you’ve died out. You might as well make it as bearable as possible and squeeze some joy out of life. People will probably like you more while you’re drunk, cancer ridden and fat anyway.